


Observations

by orphan_account



Category: Discworld - Pratchett
Genre: Crossdressing, F/F, Female Characters, Female Protagonist, Ficlet, POV Female Character, POV Third Person, Past Tense, Wordcount: 100-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-20
Updated: 2005-10-20
Packaged: 2017-10-09 03:29:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/82533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Polly watches her teammates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Observations

**Author's Note:**

> One of my first Monstrous Regiment femslashy fics. The publication date is not accurate.

_Girls, all of us,_ she thought. _Or almost all._

The marching was easy now, while they were still on the road. Her legs were aching, but she was beginning to get used to it. When the body works, the mind wanders, especially when there's no talking. Her gaze lingered on Shufti, Wazzer and Maladict, who were marching in front of her. Shufti seemed so obvious, now. That made Polly feel safer. After all, if she hadn't spotted Shufti just because she wasn't looking for another girl on the squad, and she really should have had a natural advantage, then all of them should be safe.

Wazzer, though, seemed more boy than girl even now, the kind of a nervous lad who always ended up in the bottom of the pecking order, but Polly wasn't sure how much of that was just the haircut. At first glance, Wazz was a type rather than a gender – outside of the rituals of gender, in her own sphere of timidity and intensity.

And Maladict...

Polly stared hard at the back of Maladict's head. She was used to Maladict the boy – arrogant and smug, to be sure, and she'd never much liked the type. Smug boys had, in the past, driven her half-mad with impatience.

On the other hand, when Maladict had stepped in to protect Igor in the inn, Polly had decided he couldn't be that bad, though she'd still have liked him better with a bit less confidence. And then she hadn't thought about him much, because this seemed the best policy to take with arrogant boys; pay them too much attention and their egos will only swell.

She'd tried not to think of the good little things Mal did, in his offhand way – giving Shufti a dream of revenge to keep her warm, the best a soldier could have –

The vampire's step was light and confident. Certainly no hips were swinging, nor was there the swagger of young men that she'd seen at Plotz – but maybe that was how a vampire moved. It seemed nobody was rich these days, except the vampires, and none of them had ever stayed at The Duchess. Blouse didn't swagger, either, nor did Jackrum or the older men. There was no hint in the way Maladict moved, because it wasn't exactly like any woman or man Polly had ever known.

The face was pretty for a man, but with strong high cheekbones. The voice was high for a man, low for a woman... Polly concentrated, and tried to think of Maladict as a girl.

The step. The voice. The smirk. The body under the uniform...

Polly found herself blushing a little. If Maladict was a girl, she would be... quite attractive, Polly admitted to herself reluctantly. More than that.

Maladict the boy she could write off as a bit too full of himself; Maladict the girl, with all the same attributes, would pull Polly off balance, topple her, like when Paul had almost fallen out of a second-story window once when reaching too far out to see the woodpecker on the oak in the yard. Polly had been there to pull Paul back by his suspenders. And so Polly now pulled herself back, and nailed her eyes to Shufti's back, instead.

It shouldn't make a difference, she told herself. It's the exact same person, either way. But, somehow, it did.

Two steps behind her, Tilda nudged Magda and nodded in Polly's direction. The two shared a slight smile.

There was just the crunch of gravel under their boots, an occasional crow's call, and the howl of the wind.


End file.
